Sonder
by i-really-heichou
Summary: "She only noticed me because I was right in front of her face." "And you noticed her for the first time completely blindfolded." In which Mikasa Ackerman finally notices Jean Kirschtein.


"I think I might always be in some kind of love with you."

-F. Cabanes

He says her name like a question.

His voice cracks and catches on the last syllable, softening the edge in his voice with his tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek. He is seventeen, and two inches taller with a dip in his tone and stubble lining his jaw. He is two years older than the friends he has lost, charred and reduced to ashes in bitter, autumn bonfires.

Two years teaches him plenty. Two years teaches him to count his days and his blessings all in the same breath. Two years makes him question why he didn't stop asking such questions two years ago. Two years and he is still in some sort of like with Mikasa Ackerman. Maybe love; there hasn't been enough time in the five years to quite spell it all out, with Wall Cults, and Titan Shifters and conspiracies, and what have you. Two years has convinced him that he is seventeen and still just a boy whenever she looks at him; the same twelve year old boy sputtering through a compliment, the same twelve year old boy with his fist knuckle-deep in Jaeger's face, the same twelve year old boy with pride and gall on his sleeve. If Mikasa Ackerman notices him, it is probably best to assume that it is because they have been on the same team since they were kids.

He could settle for that. He could live with that. Five years is more than enough time to swallow the fact, and Jean hopes, at the very least, she would be able to pick him out of the lineup if he found himself in a body bag tomorrow (which is entirely possible considering the circumstances.)

But the look on her face when he finds her standing outside of his room at the dead of night nearly convinces him otherwise.

Mikasa is standing in the hall with her hands curled into fists, and for a moment, he thinks they're meant for him. He stopped staring, stopped complimenting, stopped everything really since she said his name back in the mix up with Kenny, save for the occasional, "Hello" or "Good morning" from time to time. He hadn't even said anything about Jaeger-admittedly, Jean missed him too-unless this is about Armin. Armin jumping in to save his ass on the wagon, Armin never being quite like Armin again after having someone else's blood splatter across his face. Somehow, each mistake leads back to him. It takes him a while to realize she hasn't said anything. Jean's eyes drift down towards her hands, and he swallows, mouth dry. "Listen, if this about stable duty, I swear I signed in. I don't need Levi on my ass again, honest. And if this is about Armin-"

"I notice." Jean barely hears her speak over his rambling, mouth clamped shut as soon as Mikasa says it again, a little more sure of herself. He blinks and looks up at her, tests her expression, the way her mouth flattens and her brows pull together as if the frustration and confusion are tangled within each other. "I notice, Jean."

She says his name like a resolution.

Five years later, and the sound of Mikasa's voice still makes his heart crawl up his throat, makes his insides twist and his face unbearably hot. Amidst it all, he is quiet, watching the way her hands unfurl and her fingers hook into her scarf, drawing it over her mouth. He can't read her expression with half of it neatly tucked away, and Mikasa barely gives him the time to when she says, "I'll go," her words still succinct though muffled by the fabric.

"W-wait!" He's talking again, and he isn't sure what to say to get her stay, but Mikasa stops halfway with her head tilted, looking at him and he's at a loss for words. "Wait," he says again, a little sigh, a little defeated. Jean pushes the door open a little wider. "I'm not really sure what you're talking about. Do you want to come in? Or out, maybe to walk around? I know you shouldn't have to repeat yourself and-"

She takes his hand. Mikasa's palm lies flat against his, slick with sweat and all, fingers closing over the back of his hand, as she pulls him from the doorway. It's there again; the heart against his ribs, curl in his toes sort of feeling and Jean exhales, never realizing he was holding his breath in the first place. They don't say anything to one another. Jean focuses on his breathing, on the warmth coating his cheeks and the curtains of hair falling past her shoulders. His fingers twitch and he wonders if she can feel it, how nervous he is, hands shaking, voice quivering. How she can render him like this, and build him back up again, inspire and strike fear-the good kind, the one that holds admiration but not idolization in the same hand -how "I notice" tumbles around his head. Mikasa leads him outside, releasing his hand from her grip, and something tells him that she doesn't. Jean lets her go first, watches as she settles by the porch railing, elbows against the wood, tipping her weight back. Mikasa waits until he sidles up beside her, standing with enough space for another person between them.

"I heard what you told Connie," she starts, looking out ahead. "This morning. About me not noticing you until you were dead. And you're wrong. Just because I don't say anything, doesn't mean I don't notice."

Jean tells himself not to laugh, the nervous kind that bubbles in his chest when he has trouble piecing words together. He'll ruin it that way, or he's probably ruined it already, with Mikasa a million miles away, staring at anything and everything besides him.

Connie had asked that morning, and he had answered. No, there wasn't anything going on between him and Mikasa. No, he wasn't really trying for anything, not if she didn't respond, not if he was bothering her. As for the last part, Jean didn't think there was anyone in the hall when he said it. He'd have to be dead for her to notice him. Connie had laughed, always getting a kick out of his crush, but Jean has said it seriously, honestly, with a twinge of sadness and finality. Connie's hoots and hollers had come to a spiraling stop, and for some reason he understood. Connie understood that there wasn't anything there to cause guilt, or manipulate; it was the truth, something that he hadn't heard in a long time. Jean didn't think Mikasa was even up around stable duty, hidden away in an adjacent hallway with her back against the wood panel and her hand cupped over her mouth. He didn't think that '_dead_' made her knees buckle, made her slide down the wall, picturing him crushed between the teeth of Titan, rather than giving her a chance to break out of the Titan's grasp. Jean didn't think that he would hurt her.

"It was stupid," he finally says, all in one breath. "It was a stupid thing to say. And selfish, too. Sorry, you really shouldn't have heard that. I mean-'course you notice. We've been on the same squad for a while now. I would hope you would be able to...you know, identify me or something if it came to that."

Mikasa looks at him then, whipping her head around to look at his face, but he too is looking out at the landscape with his cheek against his fist. "So you're not sorry you said it. You're just sorry I heard it."

Jean blinks, feeling the air around him tense, glancing over to Mikasa wound up with her shoulders tight. Day in day out, he knows she tries her best to keep her emotions subdued, but Mikasa is transparent now, frown lines and all surfacing on her on her face. She stands further away from him, poised as if they were about to spar, and the silence cracks with tension between them until Mikasa nods and turns on her heel. Jean watches her leave for a second too long, until something in his head snaps and he follows after her.

"H-hey, Mikasa wait! Wait up." Jean's arm is outstretched, his hand on her shoulder. He braces himself for impact, knowing full well she's within her right to shake him off for touching her without asking, but Mikasa stops in her tracks, and he loosens his grip. "Okay, listen I can't be sorry I said it. I said it. I take responsibility for that, you know? But look, I'm trying to hear you out. When you believe one thing for the longest, and you build everything in your head, your whole understanding around it, it's kind of hard to hear the truth. But I want to hear it. I want to understand it. I'm not sorry I said it, but I'm sorry I hurt you. Just now. Okay? I'm sorry I hurt you. I uh...I'm sorry I didn't listen to you either. You said you did notice me, and I didn't really believe you could. So if we could start over that would be nice or something, from the beginning or somewhere else maybe..."

He doesn't know what persuades him to keep talking.

"You notice." Jean stops again, letting the words linger on his tongue, in the air. "I'm not-I'm not goin' to run with it. But you care in some way. That's what 'I notice' means, right?"

Jean's hand drops from her shoulder, resting at his side and it hits him all at once. Their situation. Their circumstances. Jean presses his arm to his mouth for a moment, biting back the surge of nausea. "We keep losing people. Everywhere. Each time. Sometimes...sometimes when we're putting people away, it's hard not to think why we're here. Why I'm here. So uh, thank you. For noticing me. 'Cause sometimes it's easy to feel a little invisible. I don't-I don't really have someone to hold on to. Not the way you have Eren and Armin. Just my mom back home, but it's not the same. I notice you, too. If it uh, if it bothers you, let me know. I know people think it's a stupid little crush but...I notice you too. I should go. I've been an asshole..."

He waits. Jean waits for a reaction, and watches her walk back towards the railing.

"I'm not really good at this." Mikasa laughs quietly to herself, not sure if he understands that either. Her not being good at something. "Even with Eren and Armin, although you probably already know that. But I know you notice me too. If you want to go then fine, I won't stop you and I'm sorry for bothering you. Just. If there's one thing you could take away from all this, if you never talk to me again and all, just. Know that it's not stupid. And that if... if you did die, you wouldn't be just another body. Not to me, anyway. You can... you can go now, if you want. I don't really have anything else to say."

"It's probably a little stupid." He shuffles back towards the edge of the porch, taking his spot by her side. "People keep telling us we have to prioritize and all." Jean rocks on his heels, listening to the creak of the floorboards. He tells her he pictures what it would be like to die and have someone care. What it would be like to have someone keep his patch, or burn their skin with searing bone shards at another pyre. He thought about it after he saved her. Not while, he wasn't thinking much while he was doing it. But after, you know, would she burn her skin with his charred bones? He hopes he did enough for Marco. Noticed and all.

Mikasa doesn't say much in response, turning his words over in her head. She keeps her chin ducked, face buried in her scarf while the fact that he saved her wells in her throat, and comes out as a soft, croaky, "Thank you." The fact that he's always been watching, silently, respectfully. How he defends her but not always. She wonders if by dying she's afraid of forgetting him, too, even they never had "memories" to speak of the way she has memories of Eren. She can't even say for sure that the scar tissue from when the Titan grabbed her counts as a memory for the two of them, doesn't know if she could ever show him, if he'd care about how she looks in the mirror sometimes and remembers how weak and flawed and ugly she is, how she's only pretty because underground she's worth so much an hour.

"It wasn't even a problem," Jean says without hesitation once she finishes. "It wasn't even something to consider. I sort of did it out of instinct. I tried to reason and think about why: You're a valuable asset to the team, we can't afford to lose anymore people, things like that. But I-I could never look at you just like that. In pieces. I know why I did it, took the risk, and maybe a small part of you knows too. Don't worry, I-I've made peace with it. I don't have to say it and make everyone uncomfortable. Still, you're welcome. When you're comfortable with the idea, I think I'd like to see it. The scar. You know I don't think you're ugly or weak. Flawed, sure, but aren't we all? It's okay to be weak sometimes, but not in the way you're talking about yourself."

Jean looks at her then. Not like before, not a sliver of a glance, but looks at her entirely, bent over the railing with her hair against her cheek. Mikasa nods again, lips pursed. "I'll think about it," she answers, her voice barely above a whisper. "Showing you the scar, I mean. But don't act like the flawed is a "maybe." It's not like you haven't called me out before. Does this ring a bell?"

Mikasa shifts and juts a finger at the scar across her cheek, still visible even under the hazy stream of moonlight. Her brows crease, mouth wound into a frown and there's accusations in her eyes, sure, but seeing the pain there hurts more. Jean moves carefully, cautiously, always fearing that he'll hurt her when he takes hold of her wrist and guides her hand away, resting it against the railing. His own hand rests against hers, cold underneath his palm, as her fingers move, aligning themselves between his own. Jean forgets to breathe exhaling to soothe his nerves. He wants to sound confident and reassuring when he speaks, but his voice shakes again when he tells her, "That doesn't make you broken."

Mikasa looks up at him, then back down at their hands, and he wonders if she minds at all. "If that doesn't, then other things do," she murmurs to herself. "Things you probably never really had to worry about growing up."

Her hand is still, and she questions if she's too bitter for him. She's probably too patronizing too, but Jean surprises her all the while.

"Maybe they're things I've experienced or will ever experience, but I'm willing to listen to you if you want to talk about it, and that counts for something right?"

Mikasa smiles for him, something lost and forlorn, something that cries anything but amusement, and when she speaks it's like mourning.

Both of them are right; they're things he never has to worry about. Mikasa talks softly, picking stitches out of her own wounds as she tells him about her parents, about the night they were killed. Jean's hand seeks hers again, drawing his thumb over and across her knuckles, back and forth. She speaks; he's patient. Jean doesn't question or push her. He waits, listening as she tells him everything. What happened to her parents, what happened to her, how Eren saved her, maybe he even thinks it's a joke when she says "I killed a man once" but she's gripping the railing far too tightly for it to be a lie. She tells him the truth about the scar, about all the people she watched die, even about the times she wanted to bash Levi's face in. She talks until she chokes and she doesn't know what to say anymore. Some object of affection she is, right.

"You're not an object of affection," Jean whispers, as soon as he's sure she's finished. He holds her hand again, tightly in his own. "I know it's just a saying, but you're not an object. And I'd like to hug you, if that's all right. I'm not really sure how to comfort you, or console you, or assure you of anything. If-if you even really need that. It's a lot, Mikasa. It's a lot to hear, but it's even more for one person to be holding in, so I'm sorry that a hug is the best thing I can do to thank you for trusting me enough."

Jean waits, again. He waits for her to whisper yes, and stretches his arms out. Mikasa bristles, and he pulls back and she looks at him, never feeling the need to be comforted, never feeling the need to tell anyone else at all. But it's him, it's Jean and he's seventeen and two inches taller, so she has to tilt her chin to look at him and it's Jean. It's Jean. He isn't one of them. He didn't do anything; he just wants to hug her.

Jean's arms are loose around her. The sight would have been comical under any other circumstances, but the anxiety and anticipation radiating off of them dispels the thought. Jean gives enough space for Mikasa to leave. She could break his arms, she could go. He can feel how tense she is, feel his cheeks burning. The hug was a bad idea. He's not like Armin, he should have said something inspirational. His arms are shaking. He should let go now. His grip begins to break, arms moving towards his sides, before Mikasa presses forward. Her arms shoot up, wrapping around him, fingers digging into the small of his back, face buried in his chest. Don't go. I notice you, don't go, please, and he reassures her silent request with his cheek against the top of her head, her hair brushing against his skin. For once in five years, Jean is strangely calm.

It's not a moment that defies time, one that defines, or one that begs to be noticed. Mikasa shudders in his arms, drawing closer until the steady beat of her heart knocks against his chest. They stay like that, forgetting the time, forgetting the night, forgetting when and where they're supposed to part, until Mikasa pulls back, reaching for Jean's hand, with "I notice you," on her lips and between their fumbling fingers.

"I know."

He was supposed to be the one to walk her back to her room, but somehow he finds himself trailing after her, still counting his blessings and minutes in the same breath. Mikasa stops in front of her door, and there is only so many times she can tell him she notices, so many times they can say goodnight before the quiet aches between them, and he kisses her. Jean kisses her, lips skittering across her cheek so quickly, he barely registers the softness of her skin. He pulls away, sputtering apologies like compliments about black hair and backing down the hall until he trips, and saves himself by breaking into a run. Mikasa cups her hand over her face, keeping the kiss against her cheek by the time Jean makes it back to his room.

He's practiced several apologies before he hears the knocking at his door. Mikasa is there again, twisting her fingers together, clearing her throat. Just as Jean opens his mouth to say sorry, she leans up on her toes and touches her mouth to his cheek, lingering there for an extra second before she sinks back down to the ground. Mikasa mumbles goodnight and he gawks in her face, as she disappears just as quickly as he left before.

Five years and he realizes loving her is one of the most honest things about him.


End file.
